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First Day on the Job
My first day on the job at a rural sheriff's office began in a less-than-optimal manner. I was assigned the position that everyone else had refused to take, that of Civil Deputy (server of civil papers) and handed the keys to a 5-year-old worn-out patrol car. It had its red and blue lights on the front bumper, and they required the application of a swift boot to get them to work. The windshield had a long crack, and the car showed obvious signs of neglect.
Upon gathering up my folder of papers to serve and heading out in the car, I got just over a mile from the office when the engine coughed and died as I was pulling out onto the highway. A helpful motorist took mercy on me and helped me push it out of the middle of the intersection. I called dispatch for a wrecker and another deputy to pick me up. Roger, the other deputy, took me back to the office, where the sheriff got a good chuckle out of my predicament. He assigned me to ride with Roger until my car was repaired. That more or less officially made Roger my FTO (Field Training Officer).
Roger and I set out again and had not yet served the first paper when we got a call. A woman had been stabbed in the chest by her sister and was en route to the hospital with a collapsed lung. When we arrived at the scene, no one was there. The victim's mother had taken her to the hospital, leaving the single-wide mobile home locked up. The home sat on a hill in the middle of a large open field with a small wooded area in one corner near the road. As Roger and I walked around the home trying to find someone, I noticed a dog sitting in the field in front of the house barking at us. We gave up on the house and went to the hospital to speak to the victim and/or her mother. The mother said the women got into a fight, and Sheila grabbed a steak knife and stabbed her sister. As we were leaving, Roger filled me in on Sheila. She was a “frequent flier” at our jail, and on several occasions she had attacked and whipped up to three deputies at a time as they were trying to arrest her. She had put one of those deputies in the hospital. That led me to the conclusion that these country folk are rough!
Roger and I made several more trips to the house through the day looking for Sheila. Each time I noticed the dog was still sitting about 50 yards in front of the house barking at us. Finally I told Roger I was going down to the woods by the road to see if Sheila was hiding there. I followed a faint trail through the field into the woods, where I found Sheila sitting on a suitcase smoking a cigarette. I said, “Hello, Sheila! It's time to go.” She stood up and asked, “Is she going to live?” I assured her that her sister was in stable condition and would recover. She submitted her hands to be cuffed, and I carried her suitcase as we walked back up the hill toward the house.
Back at the jail, the sheriff congratulated me on locating and arresting Sheila. He asked what made me walk down to the woods looking for her, and I told him I was just thinking like a dog. The dog should have been at the house barking and following us around, but he remained where he could watch the woods and the house. He was trying to protect Sheila and the house.
I rode with Roger for a week while my car was being repaired. The timing chain had broken, so the shop rebuilt the whole engine. That old '84 Dodge Diplomat ran like a top after the overhaul.
My first day on the job at a rural sheriff's office began in a less-than-optimal manner. I was assigned the position that everyone else had refused to take, that of Civil Deputy (server of civil papers) and handed the keys to a 5-year-old worn-out patrol car. It had its red and blue lights on the front bumper, and they required the application of a swift boot to get them to work. The windshield had a long crack, and the car showed obvious signs of neglect.
Upon gathering up my folder of papers to serve and heading out in the car, I got just over a mile from the office when the engine coughed and died as I was pulling out onto the highway. A helpful motorist took mercy on me and helped me push it out of the middle of the intersection. I called dispatch for a wrecker and another deputy to pick me up. Roger, the other deputy, took me back to the office, where the sheriff got a good chuckle out of my predicament. He assigned me to ride with Roger until my car was repaired. That more or less officially made Roger my FTO (Field Training Officer).
Roger and I set out again and had not yet served the first paper when we got a call. A woman had been stabbed in the chest by her sister and was en route to the hospital with a collapsed lung. When we arrived at the scene, no one was there. The victim's mother had taken her to the hospital, leaving the single-wide mobile home locked up. The home sat on a hill in the middle of a large open field with a small wooded area in one corner near the road. As Roger and I walked around the home trying to find someone, I noticed a dog sitting in the field in front of the house barking at us. We gave up on the house and went to the hospital to speak to the victim and/or her mother. The mother said the women got into a fight, and Sheila grabbed a steak knife and stabbed her sister. As we were leaving, Roger filled me in on Sheila. She was a “frequent flier” at our jail, and on several occasions she had attacked and whipped up to three deputies at a time as they were trying to arrest her. She had put one of those deputies in the hospital. That led me to the conclusion that these country folk are rough!
Roger and I made several more trips to the house through the day looking for Sheila. Each time I noticed the dog was still sitting about 50 yards in front of the house barking at us. Finally I told Roger I was going down to the woods by the road to see if Sheila was hiding there. I followed a faint trail through the field into the woods, where I found Sheila sitting on a suitcase smoking a cigarette. I said, “Hello, Sheila! It's time to go.” She stood up and asked, “Is she going to live?” I assured her that her sister was in stable condition and would recover. She submitted her hands to be cuffed, and I carried her suitcase as we walked back up the hill toward the house.
Back at the jail, the sheriff congratulated me on locating and arresting Sheila. He asked what made me walk down to the woods looking for her, and I told him I was just thinking like a dog. The dog should have been at the house barking and following us around, but he remained where he could watch the woods and the house. He was trying to protect Sheila and the house.
I rode with Roger for a week while my car was being repaired. The timing chain had broken, so the shop rebuilt the whole engine. That old '84 Dodge Diplomat ran like a top after the overhaul.
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